Of war, peace, grief and love
by sonea91
Summary: In the aftermath of the Final Battle, the survivors have to learn to deal with their grief and guilt. Eventual HHr. Originally meant as a three-shot, but the story has a mind of its own.
1. Time and Grief

A/N: This will be a very short story, I'm guessing three to four chapters. Eventual HHr. Compliant with all books, but not with the epilogue. Reviews are always appreciated and tell me whether it's worth continuing this story. Enjoy =)

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money out of this! The title of this chapter was taken from the following poem.

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><p><strong>Part 1 – Time and Grief<strong>

_O TIME! Who know'st a lenient hand to lay_

_Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence_

_(Lulling to sad repose the weary sense)_

_The faint pang stealest unperceived away;_

_On thee I rest my only hope at last,_

_And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear_

_That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear,_

_I may look back on every sorrow past,_

_And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile:_

_As some lone bird at day's departing hour,_

_Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower_

_Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while:_

_Yet ah! how much must this poor heart endure,_

_Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure!_

_('Time and Grief', William Lisle Bowle)_

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><p>The last few months had been the most hectic in her life. There hadn't been a single moment when she hadn't been totally on her guard, the need for 'constant vigilance' even following her into the realms of her dreams. Between running from Voldemort and his minions – always worrying that they might find them – and searching for the remaining Horcruxes while finding a way to destroy them there hadn't been any time to relax. Every second had been spent looking over her shoulder, worrying they might have finally been detected.<p>

So when she and Ron kissed that eventful day in the Chamber of Secrets and time seemed to stop around them, she relished it. For the first time in months she felt warm again, and for however short it lasted she felt happy. With her hope renewed and a warm fuzzy feeling still lingering in the pit of her stomach she fought with exceptional vigour in the battle that would later be dubbed 'The Final Battle'.

After that, their relationship developed quickly. Where it had only been awkward kisses with Viktor (her only experience in that department before Ron), things between Ron and her progressed far more quickly and reached a very intimate level very soon.

It was out of character for her, she was someone to rather take things slowly, but she blamed it on years of built-up tension, and frankly, at the end of the day she didn't care. They found solace in one another, someone to lean on when their world seemed to be collapsing around them and that was really all that mattered. All across the Wizarding World people were celebrating when she just wanted to curl up and cry. Yes, they had won, but at what price? There had been so much blood, so much death, so much destruction. At just 18, she had already witnessed far too much and the memories hardly let her sleep at night.

Ron understood as he was going through the same things. He had witnessed the terror himself, knew how it felt to lose a friend in battle. He had lost his own brother that day and that loss was still hurting him deeply.

Many a night, when she was exhausted and yet nightmares wouldn't allow her to sleep peacefully, Ron would stay awake with her, his arms circled around her waist giving her a sense of security. He had his fair share of nightmares as well, but hers were more frequent and of a more violent nature. Maybe it was the experience of having been tortured by one mad Bellatrix Lestrange, having her status as a 'mudblood' forever carved into her hand. Or perhaps it was due to her over-analytical mind, that she just couldn't let things rest the way Ron could. Or maybe it had to do with the fear that she would never find her parents again or worse, that they would never forgive her what she had done to them – what had she had done out of love, out of the need to protect them.

But as often as she dreamed of being captured by Deatheaters once more, being subjected to the Cruciatus over and over again, or of the scenes of battle, her friends dying, stumbling across Ron's corpse, watching helplessly as the green light of Avada Kedavra hit Harry, as often as she would see the disappointment and hurt in her parents' eyes before they banned her from their life – just as often she would dream of Ron leaving her, leaving them, once again.

Something had been destroyed that night when he had left, some innermost trust that he would never betray her or Harry that way. But for a long time, she was convinced that he being next to her, holding her, when she woke from those dreams was enough, that Ron by her side, reassuring her, caressing her, that it was enough.

And for a while it was.

It took them a long time to heal. The past years had left all of them with deep scars, and while she and Harry were the only ones to carry a noticeable one on the outside, it was the emotional ones that really mattered.

Far too many funerals took place in those early days. And yet somehow they lived on.

In the end those funerals were the thing that kept her going. She knew that they would have wanted them to move on, to live their life to the fullest. She could imagine Remus looking at her solemnly, telling her not to waste away while presenting her with a rather large chunk of chocolate (life would be moving on, with or without her. She had to remain strong for those around her, if she couldn't do it for herself), could imagine Fred cracking jokes about his demise, telling her to get a grip on herself (wasn't she supposed to be the smart one? So she should be able to realise that losses had been inevitable. And there was always George to look at when she missed his beautiful visage, even if he of course had been the more handsome of the two of them.).

So she lived on, tried to get a grip on her life once again. But it was difficult.

She had always been so full of control, planning far ahead. But now, when her talents were no longer needed, when she didn't have to plan ahead to keep her two friends safe despite whichever stunt they would come up with next, now she started to fully realise the horrors of the war they had been through. Planning, strategising had kept her mind busy before and had prevented her from having to fully analyse just exactly what was happening.

Ron was her safe haven these days, the one to keep her company and to tease a little smile out of her every once in a while.

She had convinced Ron to stay at Grimmauld Place for the time being, unable to bear seeing everyone at the moment. When she looked at them she would only see her own feelings mirrored in their faces, mainly grief and in some cases also guilt – guilt that they had survived when so many others had lost their life.

Harry on the other hand had been convinced by Ginny to move into the Burrow for the time being. So she saw little of him these days, and even less of anyone else.

She missed Harry sometimes, after having spent so much time together that was only natural, but while she longed to see him more often she didn't make any effort herself to visit him.

Yet she worried about her black-haired friend. She told Ron about it once, but he firmly told her that she was not responsible for Harry right now, that it was her first and foremost job to fix herself.

"Do you really think you can help him with the state you are currently in", he asked her.

A month ago, she would have hit him for the insensitiveness of his comment, but this time she remained silent, knowing that even if there might have been more subtle ways to tell her so he was essentially telling the truth. She was surprised when he continued.

"Look at you. At me. At all of us. We are broken, each single one of us." He looked at her solemnly.

"You have to pick yourself up before you can help anyone else. After all, how are you supposed to help someone up if you're still lying on the ground yourself?

"Imagine Harry couldn't fly or was a horrible Quidditch player. You couldn't help him with that either, before you had overcome your own fear of heights."

She had to laugh at his last comment. It was just so unbelievably Ron. And yet she had to realise how much he had grown over the last months. Gone was the completely insensitive young boy, replaced by a grown-up man.

Most importantly, he knew how to make her smile and that day found her with the first real laugh in a long time eliciting a soft smile from him in return. That night, for the first time since the final battle both of their sleeps were undisturbed, no nightmares haunting them.

Of course there was another option for the scenario Ron had described. True, the persons lying on the ground couldn't just pull one another up, but they could still help one another, getting up together, slowly but surely.

But they didn't see that option and so, while she still continued to worry about Harry, she didn't do anything about it.

In a way, that other option was the thing they were doing for one another though. Their smiles became more frequent, the lines on their faces started to diminish though never disappearing completely.

However, Ron seemed to be healing far faster than her. His time away from them had probably caused him to deal with the war a lot earlier, while she had still tried to keep the reason they were hiding in the country as far away from her mind as possible and then he had also always been the one to take things lighter.

Thus, he was back on his feet much quicker, visiting his family and friends while she preferred to stay back at Grimmauld Place on her own, not ready to face them all just yet.

That was probably when they started to drift apart.

Afterwards, she often asked herself how she hadn't seen it coming. And when she was honest to herself, she admitted that she hadn't wanted to see it, had ignored the signs on purpose.

And yet they had been there. When they had spent nearly all their time together the month after the Final Battle, Ron's visits to friends and family had become more frequent. When he had never left her for more than an hour in the beginning, now nearly a day could go by before he returned to Grimmauld Place. Their kisses and touches became fewer, losing their original passion.

And still she clung on to him, clung on as if he was her only lifeline. Maybe part of her also clung on because she couldn't bring herself to accept that their passion had cooled down so quickly, that their relationship was to end so shortly after it had begun.

It was Ron who decided to take action in the end, and when he did he did so with the most stereotypical sentence in the history of human relationships.

"We need to talk."

She was still in denial then, so she answered him with a cheerful smile and a "sure", as she settled on the sofa. The way she bit her lip, however, betrayed that part of her already sensed what was to come.

Ron didn't react to her inviting gesture to sit next to her and instead stood opposite of her, nervously wringing his hands.

"I don't really know how to say this", he started, his voice unsure.

"You know you can talk to me about everything", she said in a friendly tone, though the smile had disappeared from her face.

"I love you, Hermione, and that will never change", he said, his eyes boring into hers, willing her to understand. "It's just…" he trailed off again.

"Yes", she asked, her voice a mere whisper now.

"I love you", his voice stronger now, more sure of himself. "But not the way a man loves his spouse, but a very, very close friend."

Tears had started to trail down her face quietly at his statement, causing a desperate plea to appear on Ron's face – a plea for her to understand.

"I don't regret this", Ron went on, a hint of desperation in his voice. "I don't regret us. You mean so much to me, Hermione, and I don't want to hurt you. We had such a wonderful time together, and yet there's something missing.

"Not that I blame that on you, of course", he hastened to assure, clearly distressed and at a loss what to do. Meanwhile the tears kept trailing down her face, while she refused to meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry", he went on. "I never wanted for this to end, for us to end. I so much wanted for us to last, you know. Blimey, I even imagined us growing old together, having children and all."

His left hand went up to grab his red hair in frustration and nervousness.

"There are just some things – sometimes I just don't understand you. Not that that's your fault of course. And then, some of your habits…" he trailed off again.

"I mean, there are probably also a thousand things about me that annoy you to no end. And I'm sorry for that, too."

She had closed her eyes, unable to look at him as he kept on repeating himself, apologising over and over for things that really were not his fault. Not any more than hers, at least.

"I know", she finally broke his rambling, her tear-filled eyes meeting his gaze for the first time. "I know and I understand."

It was hard for her to utter those simple words, so unbelievably hard to admit to herself that she had failed at the one thing she had fixed her every will on. With nothing else left to plan, and no strength to look for new tasks just yet, leading an exemplary relationship had been the one thing she had fixed her energy on, a relationship that was now shattering to pieces in front of her.

When she looked up at him and saw his relieved expression, she knew she had done the right thing though. Ron didn't deserve to suffer from this, it hadn't been his fault after all.

"So you're not mad at me", he asked her, a hopeful tone to his voice.

"No", she answered simply, realising that it was the truth. While she had been in love with Ron in the beginning, she realised that, deep down, she had known for a long time that it wasn't meant to last, that while she loved him and he her, their love was not the kind that served as a strong foundation for a long-lasting relationship.

Reflecting on their relationship in later years, she would notice that it had been short but intense. A wartime romance, others might probably call it. But that didn't mean that it had been any less real.

Maybe things would have ended differently if it had been her to break up the relationship. But it hadn't been her, and thus they learnt to become friends again, neither of them ever regretting the time they had spent together as more than just friends.

"So will we be ok", he asked.

"I think we will. Maybe not right now, but we will be ok. We're Ron and Hermione after all. We fight, we bicker, we make up. We always have."

He was openly crying along with her now, as he walked over to her, hugging her tightly.

"I love you, Hermione", he repeated.

"I love you too, Ron."

He had sunk down on the sofa next to her, still tightly embracing her. They sat like that for a long time, mourning the end of their relationship together.

Eventually their tears subsided and they both settled down.

"Look at the pair of us", Ron said. "Pathetic, aren't we."

She chuckled quietly, slowly disentangling herself from his embrace.

"I have to leave", she stated rather abruptly.

"What? Why?", Ron asked as she was getting up.

"I have to find my parents. It's been too long." There was determination in her words, and Ron knew that he couldn't stop her even if he wanted to. Though it was unlike Hermione to decide something like this on the spur of the moment, once she had decided on something she was just as stubborn as Harry.

Ron bit his lip. That was not the way he had wanted for this to end, and yet he accepted her decision. It seemed sensible enough, after all. If it had been his parents he would have gone to look for them a long time ago, he figured.

He didn't understand that she was only giving him part of the explanation, that as much as she wanted to retrieve her parents , she was also looking for an excuse to get away. He also didn't understand that while she hadn't planned her decision consciously, part of her had been ready to leave for a long time.

Maybe if he had known that none of them would see her again for more than two years he wouldn't have let her gone so easily.

But he didn't know and so she left.


	2. A Time for Every Matter

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has alerted this story or put it in their favourites. A special thank you to my lovely reviewers pawsrule, Lauraxo13 and Chuffi4Harmony=)

The next part should be up within the week. Still haven't decided exactly how long this fic will be, but probably one or two more chapters;)

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><p><strong>Part 2 – A time for every matter<strong>

_For everything there is a season,_

_and a time for every matter under heaven:_

_a time to be born and a time to die,_

_a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted,_

_a time to kill and a time to heal,_

_a time to tear down and a time to build up,_

_a time to weep and a time to laugh,_

_a time to mourn and a time to dance,_

_a time to cast away stones and a time to gather stones together,_

_a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,_

_a time to seek and a time to lose,_

_a time to keep and a time to cast away,_

_a time to tear and a time to sew,_

_a time to keep silence and a time to speak,_

_a time to love and a time to hate,_

_a time for war and a time for peace._

_(Ecclesiates 3:1 – 8)_

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><p>It was over. He stared at the still figure of Voldemort in front of him somewhat disbelievingly. After all these years of fighting, it was finally over.<p>

A deep wave of relief washed over him, before quickly being replaced by guilt. How could he feel relieved when so many had lost their ways to ensure this victory? Bile was rising in his throat, and he swallowed thickly.

The rest of that day passed in a blur. He vaguely remembered his best female friend hugging him, his best mate clapping him on his back. He recalled sinking down next to Remus' corpse, clutching his cold hand desperately. His last link to his parents had died, leaving him just like Sirius had.

At some stage he had tightly hugged a sobbing Ginny to his chest who was mourning the death of her older brother.

There had also been reporters who had wanted to talk to him, longing for the first interview with the boy-who-had-lived-to-defeat. They had disgusted him, showing up after everything had been dealt with. None of them had risked their lives that day and now they thought they had the right to question him.

Ron had quite rudely told them to shove off and for once he had been grateful for his friend's bluntness, as it gave him some space to breathe.

He hadn't gone to see Snape's corpse, he knew that the man wouldn't have wanted it. And though he hadn't known his Potions Master well, had openly disliked him for all of his life, it was his death that hit him hardest. It was just so unfair. Snape had risked everything for them, and yet he had to die as a hated man. Another victim for the greater good.

He swallowed hard at those thoughts. "The greater good", how he had come to detest those words. How could anyone just play with lives like that, use them as pawns in a game of life and death? He hadn't believed his former headmaster capable of such cruelty, of such cold calculativeness. And then he felt guilty again for thinking ill of a dead man.

He had just wanted to leave that place as soon as possible and when Ginny had asked him to come back to the Burrow with her he had readily agreed. Only later had he found out that Ron and Hermione had opted to go back to Grimmauld Place instead. He was slightly peeved that they had not told him in advance, but then again he was angry at a lot of people these days.

The month following the Final Battle the Wizarding World saw little of their hero, as he only made his appearances at the funerals of those had fallen in the battle and the press was forbidden to attend. Whispers got out, though, that he had gone mad, different versions of why circulating around, one more absurd than the next. Popular were various theories that he had been hit by a strange curse before he had defeated Voldemort, some even claiming that only this madness had enabled him to kill the Dark Lord in the end. The press was depicting them as their grand tragic hero, having sacrificed everything for the sake of their world.

As usual, the press was far from the truth, though there was grain of truth in all of these stories, for some people might indeed call him mad. The truth was he had fallen into a deep depression, blaming himself for all the lives that had been lost while being angry at people who were no longer there and thus could not give him the answers he thought he deserved.

The Burrow was more than ever stuffed with people, however, the gayness and cheerfulness that was usually lingering in the house was missing. The eerie tranquillity that had replaced it was unsettling, and to no one it was more unsettling than to one raven-haired inhabitant. He was desperately wishing the incessant chatter back which he had come to identify with the Burrow, if only to have something to drown his sorrow in.

But the family assembled in the Burrow was mourning itself, mourning the loss of friends and, above all, the loss of one of their own. They spoke little, even to one another, and it never went beyond the simple 'morning' or 'could you pass me the jam'.

Most of those days were spent in an uneasy silence. With Fred gone and George torn up about having lost his twin brother, there was no one there to try and crack some jokes in order to break the tense atmosphere.

Funerals came and went. To him, they were all the same. Sure, on some occasions there would be more tears than on others, but in the end, it didn't make a big difference. In the end, he had failed them all, had failed to protect them. This had been his fight; if anyone should have died it should have been him.

He spent most of his time with Ginny, holed up in her room. Fred's death had taken a great toll on her, he had always suspected that he had been her favourite brother. But she was strong, and it was Ginny who first broke the silence, cracking the first joke since Fred had died. And even though it was an extraordinarily bad one and no one laughed, George gave her a weak smile in return. A start had been made and slowly but surely, the family started to heal back together, now more tightly knit than ever before.

But as everyone around him was slowly getting back to his or her old life, he couldn't help but feel left out. How could he go back to a normal life when so many had lost their life? And, probably even more important, how could he try to have a normal life, when he didn't even know what that felt like?

His life had been many things, but normal was certainly not among the words to describe it, nor was simple.

With 11 he had learned the true circumstances of his parents' death, and he had faced Voldemort for the first time. From that time onwards he had known that the greatest threat the Wizarding World had ever known was not yet defeated, even though they were too blind to see that. It took him until 4th Year to understand that even though his newly-found world turned a blind eye – too frightened what it would mean if what he claimed was true – they still counted on him to eventually destroy the Dark Lord.

In retrospect, most of his adolescent years had been spent preparing for that ultimate confrontation and now that it was finally over he was at a complete loss as to what to do.

He fell into a deep hole those days, and no one was able to coax him out of it, not even Ginny, even though she tried to do so continuously.

He saw little of his two best friends. While Ron came over to visit every once in a while, his bushy-haired best friend opted to stay behind in Grimmauld Place most times. He missed her sometimes and worried about her. According to Ron, she was taking things pretty badly. But even as he worried about her, he was convinced that he couldn't help her, even if he wanted to, he was too broken himself.

Some days when he woke from a particular nightmare, he wished she was there, to tell him that everything would be alright. When he woke up and saw brown eyes watching him worriedly, it always took him a few seconds to realise that they were just a few shades lighter than those of his best friend. Very often, he would feel a sting of disappointment after that, quickly being replaced by guilt. He had just spent so much time with her during the last year that it was no wonder that he missed her. Maybe a bit of distance was exactly the thing they needed.

And then, there was Ginny. She had waited for him, had forgiven him for breaking up with her in the first place – something he didn't think he deserved. She tried to help him as good as she could, even though she was dealing with her own grief at the same time, and for that he was grateful. And if he found her a bit overbearing from time to time, her kindness made more than up for it.

Weeks passed by, and while his friends were slowly recovering, hardly anything changed for him. That is, until one day his best red-headed friend came into the Burrow, luggage in his hand.

It was one of these few days where Ginny had actually managed to tear him down to the kitchen, so he was sitting next to her, quietly eating while occasionally nodding to whatever she had just said. Across from them sat a knitting Molly and Arthur, who was reading the Daily Prophet, commenting on some article every once in a while.

Nobody found it unusual that the pointer on the clock labelled "Ron" turned to "home", they had expected him to drop by sooner or later. Unexpected, however, was the force with which he inadvertently slammed the door, loudly cursing at the sound.

He didn't even manage to greet them, before Molly had gotten up, eyeing him questioningly.

"What happened", she demanded. "Did something happen between you and Hermione?"

Leave it to the Weasley matron to spot the problem at once.

"We broke up", Ron tried to shrug it off.

There was sharp intake of breath from Molly's side, as she slowly sank back into her seat.

"Where is she now", Ginny voiced the question that had been weighing on his mind as well.

"She went to look for her parents."

"You mean you just left her to go to Australia", Ginny cut in, disbelievingly.

"Ahm, yeah", Ron muttered unintelligible, scratching his chin with his right hand.

"Where exactly did she go? When will she come back? How will she stay in contact?" Ginny fired off one question after another.

"I don't exactly know", Ron admitted sheepishly.

"You don't know", Ginny's voice was now thunderous.

"I just thought..."

"Clearly you weren't thinking", his sister interrupted him.

He was no longer listening to the siblings' argument, as the words sunk in. His best friend was gone, gone to look for her parents – on her own. Contrarily to Ginny, he did not blame Ron for it; he knew that once his bookworm best friend set her mind to something, no force in hell could persuade her otherwise. But still. He should have been there for her, should have made it clear to her that she could always count on him, that he would be there for her. But he hadn't been lately, had he? Been there for her that is. With a feeling of dread he realised that he couldn't even remember the last time he had talked to her.

He pushed his plate back and quickly left the room, his appetite quite suddenly completely lost. All he could think about right then was his female best friend and how he had failed her, like he had failed so many others lately. Bile was rising in his throat and he swallowed thickly.

The atmosphere in the Burrow was once again charged with tension as one week passed without any notice from Hermione. And eventually, he reached his complete breaking point.

He didn't even listen to Ginny when she was shouting at him, while he was packing his bag. Nor did he listen to Molly's worried voice, or Arthur's quiet voice asking him to reconsider. And while he didn't want to hurt their feelings, he knew he couldn't stand even one more day there. The Burrow was still stuffed with people, as none of the Weasley children had left yet and while he had always found the atmosphere in the Burrow refreshing, now he found it downright smothering.

He left without much of a goodbye, telling them he was going back to Grimmauld Place and that he didn't want to see anyone for a while, that he had to get through this on his own. There were words of protests, but he wasn't to be stopped, when he made up his mind, he was even more stubborn than Hermione.

The first feeling he experienced when he arrived at his destination was relief, quickly followed by a wave of exhaustion.

Things went downhill from there. With no one there to take care of him or to force him into eating, he took little care of himself. A month passed in much the same manner, until one day, someone decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Kreacher made dinner for you, master", his houself announced one day, pressing a plate of stew into his hand.

"Thanks", he replied, "but I really am not hungry."

"Bad Kreacher", was the only reply he got, as the houself started smacking his head on the nearby dresser.

"Kreacher, what are you doing", he asked him, alarmed.

"Master obviously doesn't like the food Kreacher has made. So Kreacher must punish himself. Bad Kreacher, bad Kreacher." His answer was accompanied by the sounds of his head banging against the dresser repeatedly.

"Kreacher, stop that, I'm not upset with you", he tried to get him to stop. When that didn't work, he surrendered. "OK, I'll eat, just stop hitting yourself."

"Master is too kind", Kreacher replied. He just sighed in reply, house-elves were just too damn difficult.

Maybe if he had seen the sly grin on the house-elf's face or had considered that Kreacher had belonged to a family of Slytherins before, he would have reconsidered eating. But alas, he hadn't noted the expression nor thought about it too much, so he finally started eating again. Much the same way, he started showering again and taking care of himself the following day. If it hadn't been so serious, it would have been funny to see how he was forced into recovery by his very own house-elf.

There is a time for every matter. A time for war and a time for peace. A time for mourning and a time for remembering those lost fondly. A time for falling apart and a time for healing. For him, the latter time had finally come.

He didn't learn to completely let go of his guilt, but he learned to live with it. He still thought of his best friend that had gone away very often, wishing there was some way to reach her. But he knew from the Weasleys that their owls had returned without a reply, and he respected her too much to go after her when she obviously didn't want to be found. That didn't mean he didn't still miss her, a lot, really, especially once he had started to recover. She had been by his side since he had been 11, and it felt wrong not to have her around now.

He started visiting the Weasleys again, only occasionally in the beginning and then regularly. He could see the relief in their faces that finally, he was catching on to his old life.

Things between him and Ginny were strained. The fact that he hadn't wanted her near when he was falling apart had given him food for thought, as well as that he found that he hadn't missed her all that much.

It took him a few weeks to work up the courage to break up with her; after all, he owed her so much. But when her tears subsided and she started throwing a temper tantrum instead, he knew she would be alright, they all would be.

He found a new purpose in life by training to become an auror. After all, there will still enough dark wizards out there, who needed to be captured.

He passed all his tests with flying colours, and managed to cut the training down to two years from the usually required three. He knew he was good at what he was doing and he relished it. Capturing fugitive criminals brought a feeling of justice to him and he felt that he had finally found his right place.

With his muggle background, he was often asked to undertake undercover missions in muggle neighbourhoods. It was on one of these days, strolling through Muggle London that he saw her.

Her long bushy hairs had gone, replaced by a short-cut hairstyle. It changed her look a lot and she carried herself a little differently these days, but he had recognised her at once all the same. Even though she looked quite different, this was the Hermione of old days, the happy one. Gone was the bitter and lost look he had last seen on her face.

When she noticed him, they both just stared at one another for a while, before she suddenly came rushing over to him, tightly embracing him as he tightened his hold around her in return.

"Oh Harry", she mumbled into his chest. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too", he replied softly.

And just like that, a piece of his heart he hadn't even realised to have gone missing was back in place.


	3. A Special World

A/N: Thanks again to everyone who favourited or alerted this story and especially to my reviewers pawsrule, alix33, Lauraxo13 and Chuffi4Harmony.

In this chapter, I keep switching between Harry's and Hermione's perspective. For me, it does make perfect sense, but then again, I'm the one who wrote it in the first place^^ So if it is confusing to you, please let me know and I'll refrain from doing so in the future.

On another note, originally, this was supposed to be the last chapter. But somehow, this chapter went into a different direction than I had planned and the story is therefore turning out longer than I originally anticipated. So there'll be at least two more chapters after this one.

Also, I've decided to switch to present tense in this story, because it just sounded odd otherwise. I'll go back to fix the other chapters lately, so sorry for the current inconsistency.

But on with the story now.

* * *

><p><strong>Part 3 - A Special World<strong>

A special world for you and me  
>A special bond one cannot see<br>It wraps us up in its cocoon  
>And holds us fiercely in its womb.<p>

Its fingers spread like fine spun gold  
>Gently nestling us to the fold<br>Like silken thread it holds us fast  
>Bonds like this are meant to last.<p>

And though at times a thread may break  
>A new one forms in its wake<br>To bind us closer and keep us strong  
>In a special world, where we belong.<br>_Sheelagh Lennon_

* * *

><p>He is the first to slowly disentagle himself from their embrace. They just stand next to another for a short while, neither of them saying anything, still not quite believing that the other is really there with them.<p>

"Let me take you home." The words are out of his mouth before he has even realised he was going to say that.

"Home", she repeats quietly, the word feeling foreign on her tongue. _Home. Where was home for her? _

"I mean, back to Grimmauld Place", he clarifies, misinterpreting her repetition of his statement.

He sees a whole range of emotions playing across her face, too fast for him to catch any of them. Gone, however, is the happy and carefree look he had noticed on her face earlier on, and he frowns.

"You live there now?", she asks, a hint of surprise to her voice.

"Yeah", he shruggs awkwardly, still mustering her quietly.

"Will Ginny be there?"

"No", he says, somewhat uncomfortably. "We broke up. After that, I just wanted to be alone for a while, so I moved back there and it's been like that ever since."

"Oh", she replies. And then "I'm sorry."

This short reply worries him more than anything else. It is nothing like his elaborate friend he had last seen.

"So are you coming with me", he asks her gently.

She bites her lip, seemingly debating the matter in her mind.

"Please", he urges on. He needs her to come with him, he isn't going to lose sight of his best friend again.

"Are you going to tell anyone that you saw me", she asks him in a small voice.

He hesitates. He doesn't like where this is going one bit, yet right now his main task is to get her to come with him. "Not if you don't want me to."

"I don't", she says. "It's not like..., it's just...", she breaks off, not knowing how to word what she wants to say. He can hear her take a deep breath before she continues. "Alright, I'll come with you."

He is worried that she has decided to change the subject, not telling him why she is so reluctant to see the others again. He is willing her to meet his eyes, but she is staring at the floor, clearly avoiding his gaze.

Scrutinising her more closely, he notices things he had missed before. There are dark circles around her eyes, and her clothes look too big on her, she has obviously lost quite a lot of weight.

He sighs. Well, his questions can wait until he has gotten them both to Grimmauld Place. He silently holds out his hand to her, and she hesitantly takes it. After one last look at her, they are pulled into the familiar feeling of apparition and if she is surprised at his command of wandless magic she doesn't comment on it.

They have softly landed in the living room, when she immediately lets go of his hand. He feels slightly hurt, but there are more important things on his mind right now. Like the fact that she is still refusing to meet his gaze, having turned away from him.

"Hermione", he starts worriedly.

"Yes", she answers cheerfully, now turning around to look at him. He can't help but stare at her dumbfounded. Gone are all the traces of fatigue around her eyes, and she is smiling lightly. Her clothes no longer seem to be too big on her, but seem to fit her just right.

Realisation dawns on him and anger overtakes him. "Drop it", he demands.

"Drop what", she asks him, puzzled, but he isn't fooled this time.

"The glamour. Damn you, Hermione, stop pretending."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Harry", she answers calmly.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about", his voice has become sharp by now. "You don't want to see anyone else, there were dark circles around your eyes just moments ago, your clothes were far too big on you. Need I go on?"

"It must have been a trick of the light", she muses. "Honestly, Harry, I'm fine." Her voice has now taken on the tone she had always used when she had lectured him and Ron about something that they just didn't understand and she thought was blatantly obvious.

He grinds his teeth, doing his best to reign in his temper. She is most definetely not fine. But it won't do to lose his temper now, not when she can just decide to leave any moment she feels like it.

"Do you mind if we continue this conversation in the morning", she asks him. "I'm dead tired." She smiles apologetically at him.

He doesn't bother to point out to her that it is hardly past six in the evening, nor does he take another attempt at convincing her to be honest with him. Maybe it is best if he can sleep on it as well.

"You can take Regulus' old room", he answers resignedly. "Kreacher keeps it prepared for visitors."

"Thank you", she replies. "Good night."

With that she turns, leaving him to this thoughts. He is disturbed from his thoughts a few minutes later, when Kreacher popps into existence.

"Dinner is ready in the dining room, Master", the house-elf informs him.

"Thank you, Kreacher", he replies. "I think I'll just take it in her today, if you don't mind."

"Of course not. Anything else I can bring you?"

He is about to shake his head no, when he thinks of something. "Can you bring me a glass of port wine as well?"

Kreacher bowes his affirmation, disappearing, just to reappear not a minute later with dinner in one hand and the glass of wine in the other.

"Will that be all, Master", he asks, setting the plate next to the wine on the small table in front of the sofa Harry is currently sitting on.

"Yes, thank you, Kreacher."

With Kreacher gone, Harry is once again left to his own thoughts. He hardly touches his dinner that evening, only occasionally sipping from the wine glass in his hand, trying to figure out just how to go about confronting his best friend.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, said best friend has arrived in Regulus' room, shutting the door behind her softly. A quick locking charm and 'muffliato' for good measure later, she tiredly collapses onto the bed.<p>

Gone is the glamour she had used earlier, and the fatigue and desperation are now clearly visible on her pale face as she curles up into a foetal position.

How could she have been so stupid to actually go with him? She wasn't supposed to slip like that. But seeing him again had thrown her off her guard, especially when he had started talking about 'home' so casually, like she still belonged there, like she still belonged to them.

She had noticed that her glamour had slipped too late, and she curses herself for her carelessness. He hadn't been supposed to see her like that, in such a vulnerable state.

The easiest thing would be to just leave right now, then she wouldn't have to continue acting and could just go back to her life.

_Life. _She swallows bitterly and for once, she gives in to her despair, crying quietly for a few minutes.

Soon, she stops herself forcefully though, she has to pull herself back together. She has done this before, she can do this again.

_Life. Yes, her life. She is happy with her life. She enjoys the way she is living now. _

She breaths deeply as her masks are finally slipping back in place, a sense of security enveloping her. Nothing and nobody can hurt her like this.

_No, she isn't just going to leave right now. She can't do this to Harry, she knows he would feel guilty._

_So there is only one more option left, really. She has to convince him that she is indeed alright, that he doesn't have to worry about her. _

_She can do that. She will do that. After all, acting hasbecome an integral part of her, so much that it has started to not feel like acting any more lately. That is, until Harry had come along._

_No, better not think about that just yet. Just concetrate on breathing first. In. Out. Now, there you go, that's better._

Eventually, she loosens her curled up position, but her posture remains rigid. She does not sleep much that night.

* * *

><p>He wakes to the smell of breakfast the next day. Odd. Kreacher knows better than to prepare breakfast for him, as he usually doesn't have time to take any before he goes off to work.<p>

The next thing he notices is how stiff his neck is and opening his eyes, he realises that he is lying on the couch in the sitting room, a blanket wrapped around him, probably courtesy of Kreacher. The last day comes rushing back to him.

Hermione. She is here. He has finally gotten his best friend back, and he will do everything in his might to prevent her from leaving again. He sits up rather abruptly.

Hastily scribbling a letter and sending it off with Hermes, he goes into the adjacent kitchen. There he is met with the strangest of sights.

There at the counter stands his best friend, busy making some scrambled eggs, while Kreacher stands next to her, roasting sausages. Neither of the two seems to be too pleased with the arrangement though, as they keep constantly staring at what the other is doing.

"Good morning", he greets them.

She starts and he has to suppress a laugh at how jumpy she is, especially when he sees the strangely smug look on Kreacher's face.

"Oh, good morning, Harry", she says amiably, smiling at him broadly. "I thought I'd make some breakfast."

There is a loud cough from Kreacher. "Oh, yeah, and Kreacher decided that he wanted to help." The way she emphasises on 'wanted' makes it pretty clear that she isn't too happy about it, but that the elf hasn't given her much of a choice.

"Thanks", he says, addressing them both.

Kreacher gives a short nod, before announcing that he has some other tasks to do and leaves.

Meanwhile, Hermione has taken out two plates and cups from the cupboard, setting the table.

"Tea", she asks him.

"Sure, thanks", he replies. He has been thinking about confronting her directly, not liking the way she is smiling at him, as if everything is alright, but decides to wait until after breakfast.

They both settle down opposite one another and start eating. They hardly talk at all, the silence between them strained, as both of them are all too aware of the upcoming confrontation.

Harry is quietly studying her face. The smile is still on her face, but now that he knows that something is off he starts noticing some telltale signs. Her smile, though warm, is not reaching her eyes and her posture is just a bit too straight to be natural.

They finish their breakfast in silence, and she makes to get up to clean the plates away. A swish of his wand, and the dishes are flowing over to the sink, cleaning themselves.

She sits back down with a strained smile. "Don't you have to go to work soon?"

"I wrote them a letter earlier. I'm taking a few days off."

"Can you just go on holidays like that? Is there no partner you have to notify? Do you even have any vacation days left? Isn't there..."

"Hermione", he interrupts her, breaking of her string of questions. "You know as well as I do that we've got to talk."

"What about", she replies, feigning ignorance.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about", irritation has creeped into his voice and he does his best to suppress it, before continuing in a calmer voice. "We have to talk about what's wrong with you."

"There's nothing wrong with me."

"Yes, there is. Or why else would you feel it is necessary to wear a glamour in front of me?" He puts on a hurt voice now, trying to make her feel guilty for pretending, but really, he doesn't have to put up that much of an act.

"I am not wearing a glamour, Harry", she sighs, exasperatedly.

"So, you are really going to continue denying it."

"Yes, I mean, no, because I am not denying anything. You don't have to worry about me, Harry."

"You know, I can't help but worry about you", he sighs, his hands reaching across the table to gently cover hers. "So, you really are fine?"

"Yes Harry, I'm fine." She smiles at him.

"Then - I'm sorry, but I have to do this", he quickly pulled back his hands, taking out his own wand in the process.

No audible spell has left his lips when the glamour starts to drop from her face and she looks at him with wide, surprised eyes. She makes to grab for her own wand, but the expression on her face quickly becomes one of horror, when she comes up empty-handed.

"Sorry", he repeats, and she notices that he has her wand in his left hand.

* * *

><p>He had not just stolen her wand?<p>

The horror she felt earlier is quickly replaced by rage.

_Yes, hold on to that rage, that's easy enough to explain, after all he did steal my wand._

"Give me back my wand, now", she demands angrily.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to do that", Harry replies, a sad look on his voice. "Not when I know that once you get it back, you might just decide to leave. I can't risk that."

_Ok, breathe Hermione, you can do this._

"How did you even manage to break my charm, it was a pretty strong one", she inquires, curiously, leaning in closer towards him.

He raises his eyebrow, unimpressed. "I am an auror, after all, and I wasn't just allowed to shorten down my training because of my name."

"So, being an auror, that must be pretty tough", she adds after a short pause.

"It's alright", he shruggs. "But will you please stop trying to distract me, it's not going to work."

She does her best to stop the frustrated groan that is threatening to leave her lips. Time for a new approach then.

"I don't own you any explanation", she tells him calmly.

"But I think you do", he replies, just as calmly. "I'm your best friend after all."

"No, you don't. Not when you are the one who caused all of this, when it's your fault that I'm this miserable."

Boom. She can see that she has hitten him just where she had intended to. She has to suppress a sad smile. It had never been her intention to hurt him, but if that is the only way to get him to leave her alone, then she has to do this.

* * *

><p>For a second he can do nothing but stare at her in disbelief. She has not just said that. Not when she knows how guilty he had felt after Sirius' death, how guilty he still sometimes feelsfor having survived when so many others lost their life.<p>

He takes a deep breath, calming himself. This is Hermione, she would never say something like that to intentionally hurt him, would she? But has she not just done that? And maybe she hasn't been aiming at hurting him, but really resents him for what happened to her.

There is a short flicker on her otherwise cold face, too quick for any normal person to catch it, but Harry has been trained as an auror, and he recognises it as regret.

Relief washes over him, even though he doesn't show it outwardly. How could he have doubted her, she wouldn't blame him, he should know that.

No, Hermione would never intentionally hurt him, unless...

Unless of course she wanted to guilt him into letting her go. Oh no, he is not going to fall for that trap.

"Just stop it, Hermione", he tells her tiredly. "You're not going to get rid of me that easily. You're my best friend, you've always stood by my side. We've been through thick and thin together, and I'm not just going to let you leave when I can clearly see that you are in no way 'alright'."

A resigned look appears on her face. "What do you expect me to do, Harry? I don't want to talk about it, any of it."

He sighs, recognising that he won't be able to force anything out of her.

"You don't have to", he eventually replies softly. "How about this: I promise not to ask you any questions and to not tell anyone that you are here, but in return you agree not to just leave and to stop using glamours in front of me."

She seems reluctant at first, nervously biting her lower lip as she considers his offer. He wants to smile at the familiarity of that particular habit, but refrains from doing so, afraid to break the moment.

She closes her eyes briefly, before looking him straight in the eyes. "Alright", she replies softly. "I'll stay."

He smiles at her and offers her wand to her. She takes it, but doesn't reply his smile.

"Mind if I take out some books from the Black library", she asks him.

"No, of course not", he replies, on the one hand relieved that their conversation is returning to safer grounds, on the other hand disappointed that she's so unwilling to discuss things with him.

"Thanks", she says. "I'll be up there then."

He just nodds at her as she climbs up the stairs. He feels tired. He hopes this is a start, however small it may seem.

He sits back down at the table heavily. She might not have meant what she said earlier, but it still hurts. And he just knows, that his demons will be back tonight, coming to haunt him in the form of nightmares.


	4. Shattered

_A/N:_ My muse and I have a rather strained relationship sometimes. The problem is that it's actually a three-way relationship with time, so it tends to be rather complicated ^^

I know that the song below actually refers to the singer's faith in god. I originally wanted to name this chapter 'Under my skin', another song by Trading Yesterday, but somehow I thought these lyrics were more fitting.

Thanks again to my loyal reviewers Chuffi4Harmony, pawsrule and Lauraxo13!

* * *

><p><strong>Part 4 – Shattered<strong>

Yesterday I died, tomorrow's bleeding  
>Fall into your sunlight<br>The future's open wide beyond believing  
>To know why hope dies<br>Losing what was found, a world so hollow  
>Suspended in a compromise<br>The silence of this sound is soon to follow  
>Somehow sundown<p>

And finding answers  
>Is forgetting all of the questions we call home<br>Passing the graves of the unknown

As reason clouds my eyes with splendor fading  
>Illusions of the sunlight<br>And the reflection of a lie will keep me waiting  
>A love gone for so long<p>

This day's ending  
>Is the proof of time killing all the faith I know<br>Knowing that faith is all I hold

And I've lost who I am  
>And I can't understand<br>Why my heart is so broken  
>Rejecting your love<br>Without love gone wrong  
>Lifeless words carry on<br>But I know, all I know  
>Is that the end's beginning<p>

Who I am from the start  
>Take me home to my heart<br>Let me go and I will run  
>I will not be silenced<br>All this time spent in vain  
>Wasted years, wasted gain<br>All is lost, hope remains  
>And this war's not over<p>

There's a light, there's the sun  
>Taking all the shattered ones<br>To the place we belong  
>And his love will conquer all<p>

Yesterday I died  
>Tomorrow's bleeding<br>Fall into your sunlight

_Shattered by Trading Yesterday_

* * *

><p>She leaves that afternoon to pick up some clothes. He wants to accompany her, but she declines.<p>

"I promise I'll be back", she tells him.

He looks hesitant.

"When have I ever broken my promises", she asks him gently, coaxing him into letting her go.

He musters her quietly before slowly nodding. "I'll see you later then."

She smiles in reply and even though the smile doesn't reach her eyes, he feels confident that she'll be back. This is Hermione after all, she would never break such a promise. On the other hand, he had never thought that she would use glamours in front of him, and yet she did.

She is gone before he has the chance to add anything else, apparating to her home. He doesn't know where it is and he somehow has the feeling that she doesn't want him to know. What he doesn't know is why. Maybe because she wants to have a backdoor left to be able to leave without him knowing where she has gone.

He sighs. It's hard not to just outright confront her and demand answers. But they've struck a deal and he doesn't want to scare her away.

So he sits down on the sofa, willing himself to relax. Still, every few minutes he finds himself stopping, anxiously listening for any sound to signal that she is back.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile she has arrived at her destination. There is really not much left for her to pick up, she hasn't bothered with anything but the essentials lately.<p>

A quick spell later her things are packed and she's ready to leave again.

She looks around one last time and shudders slightly. It's somehow hard to imagine that she's spent the last few months living here.

Her hand glides across the dusty wall. It's ironic, really. For weeks she's wished she'd have another place to go and now that she does, she's reluctant to leave her refuge.

A sigh escapes her throat and the strap of her bottomless bag slips from her grip. There's a soft thud, followed by another, as she's allowed herself to sink down to the floor.

She's promised him that she'll be back and she is not going to break her promise, but right now she just needs a moment to herself.

Her glance passes over the dusty floor and walls once again. This is the place she's lived in for the last few months. And yet, this has never been her home. It is part of why she chose this place to begin with, really, she didn't want to feel happy there, it would have felt wrong.

That and she doesn't really have much money either, having spent most of her savings during her stay in Australia. She knows that she could get a job nearly everywhere, she has received enough offers straight after the war. But she wants a job where she is appreciated for her skills, and not just for her status as a war heroine. Then again, finding a job hasn't been one of her priorities as of late. But, she muses, she hasn't had any priorities lately, not really.

Her glance falls on the item in her left hand. It's the only thing that she hasn't carelessly summoned into her bag. Her thumb softly caresses its worn cover. It's the only thing that has provided her some sort of comfort within these walls. Maybe it's due to the fact that it's a book, and she's always cherished knowledge. Maybe she values it so much because it's been her favourite book for a while now. Or maybe it's simply because it reminds her of her teenage years, better times.

In the end it's probably a combination of all these factors.

Her thoughts drift to the place's previous inhabitant. She remembers him telling her once that he liked living here better than living at Grimmauld Place. She had thought him crazy then, but now, she thinks she can emphasise. At least, at this place he had his freedom. At least at this place he was free to do what he wanted to. Grimmauld Place never gave him that chance. She fears it might be the same for her.

She knows that Harry isn't going to outright confine her to his place, but he'll be watching out for her, and rather closely at that. She sighs. It feels good to know that someone cares for her this much, but she also fears what it might entail. She doesn't want to drag Harry down with her, not when he has obviously done such a great job at getting his life back on the right track. As opposed to her. She smiles bitterly.

A last sigh, a final glance around and she leaves without looking back.

* * *

><p>Harry looks up startled at the sound of apparition. She nods at him before moving upstairs to put her stuff away.<p>

At least that was the original plan. When she arrives there, she puts the bag down beside the bed and lies down. She's not ready to unpack just yet. It would give this an air of finality, as if she's properly moved in.

Downstairs, Harry lets out a breath of relief.

* * *

><p>They don't really interact much during the rest of the day. Dinner passes quietly, neither of them saying very much.<p>

She leaves for bed shortly afterwards, and Harry is once again left alone in the kitchen, contemplating things.

Tomorrow is Friday. He is supposed to go over to the Weasleys' for dinner, but he is pretty sure that he won't be able to convince her to come and he is not ready to leave her alone just yet.

So, time to make up a convenient excuse. He sighs. He doesn't want to lie to the Weasleys, but he can't very well tell them that Hermione is the reason he won't be coming. Even if he hadn't promised her not to tell them, he wouldn't have thought it wise anyway. He loves them all to bits, but they can be a bit too interfering sometimes and if they knew she was here, he knows that they wouldn't leave her alone.

He sends an owl to Ron some time later, having made up some excuse about being tied down with work and asking him to give his best to the family for him.

Ron's reply is even shorter than his excuse. "Sure mate, see you next week." He has to smile at the reply; it's just so typical for his red-head best friend.

* * *

><p>She decides to sleep in the next morning, something she has rarely done in the past. In fact, she can't remember doing so since their sixth year.<p>

The smell of freshly brewed tea greets her as she enters the kitchen. Kreacher has made sure to be up before her today and he has already prepared breakfast.

She is not really surprised to see Harry sitting at the kitchen table, obviously having taken off another day from work. She is about to tell him that she doesn't want him missing his work for her, when he looks up.

"Good morning", he smiles at her. "Tea?"

"Morning, Harry. Sure, tea sounds great." She takes the proffered cup from him, and politely thanks Kreacher for the breakfast he puts in front of her. Kreacher just nods at her, a somewhat smug smile on his face, before he pops out, leaving them to their breakfast.

"Listen, Harry", she starts, but he once again interrupts her.

"Don't worry, I'm not taking any more days off. I'll be working today."

She looks at him, surprised. "How do you know that is what I wanted to ask you about?"

"Because I know you", he replies simply. A warm feeling starts spreading in her stomach at his answer, one she is not sure where it is coming from.

"But don't you have to leave soon, then", she asks him.

"Nope."

"And that's because…?"

"I am working from home today."

"And you can just do that whenever you want to?"

"No."

"Are you trying to be difficult on purpose?"

"Yes."

"Harry", she admonishes him, but there's a smile on her face now, the first real smile since she has arrived here, her first real smile in ages.

Harry is close to doing a victory dance around the table as he catches her smile, but he is pretty sure that would scare her away, so he settles on simply smiling in reply.

"The reason why I am allowed to work from home is because I offered to do some of the paperwork that has accumulated over the past few months.

He points to three rather large stacks sitting on the counter.

"Who in their right mind would volunteer to do that", she asks, as she flips through the papers.

"No one", he answers cheerfully. "Ergo, why I am allowed to do this from home."

She shakes her head at him, still smiling. She can't help but feel a bit guilty that he has taken on that work for her, but is touched all the same.

They sit in silence for a while, Hermione taking little bites from her breakfast, while Harry absentmindedly looks at her, deep in thoughts, occasionally taking a sip from the cup in his hand.

She breaks his trance when she gets up to put her plate away. He stretches himself and yawns, before he gets up from his chair. "Time to tackle the paperwork", he sighs.

"So what's your plan for today", he asks her, as he shuffles through the papers unenthusiastically.

"I don't really know", she says, hesitatingly.

He tries to keep his face passive, while he once again wonders what has happened to the girl he once knew, who used to love nothing better than meticulously work out her time tables, planning every minute ahead. Being a planner is part of what has always defined Hermione, or at least the Hermione he used to know. But maybe he'll have to start re-evaluating what he had considered a fact about her.

"I think I'm going to head up to the library", she interrupts his train of thoughts.

He nods, glad that at least she's found something to do. She turns back when she's already half up the stairs.

"Do you want to join me?", she asks, somewhat shyly. "I think it'd be far more practical to work up there than in the kitchen."

"Sure", he says, "I'll follow you up in a moment." She nods, before turning back, heading up the staircase.

A large smile breaks out over his face. He knows it's not much, but it's something, and for now, he's content with what he has gotten.

He joins her in the library a few minutes later. She's already curled up on the sofa, a large volume spread on her lap. Her forehead is wrinkled, as she muses about some theory or other she has just read about. At the same time, her left hand absentmindedly twists a strand of her hair that has slipped out of her braid.

He closes the door behind him quietly, not wanting to disturb her peace. If she notices that he has entered, she doesn't show it.

He settles on a nearby table, spreading out the papers in front of him. With a soft groan, he starts on the first form, and he is soon deeply immersed in his work.

They don't talk about much for the rest of the day. Dinner is a quiet affair, and yet he has the feeling that they've taken one step forward.

* * *

><p>That night he wakes up to the sound of her screaming. He rushes over to her room, afraid that something has happened, his wand at the ready. When he bursts into her room, he stops and stares at her, paralysed. He has had his fair share of nightmares, but never quite like this.<p>

Hermione is lying in her bed, her whole fragile form trembling, fighting off some invisible enemy. Her eyes are firmly shut, and yet her head wildly turns in every direction, as if trying to make out some foe. She is muttering as well, but he is unable to understand any of it.

With a few quick strides, he is over by her side. Unsure of what to do, he tries to wake her, by shaking her shoulder, but that is obviously the wrong thing to do.

Her head stops turning, as she seems to have identified him as the invisible foe she is trying to fight off. Too late he realises that she has her wand in her hand. Only his quick reflexes allow him to avoid the spell that is shooting out of her wand not a second later, and he mentally curses himself for his own stupidity.

"Hermione, wake up, it's me, Harry", he shouts at her, but she does not seem to hear her. But before she can shoot off her next spell, he grasps her hands, turning the aim away from him. He hears the mirror shatter that is standing next to the bed, but he does not allow himself to turn.

He feels horrible for having to hurt her, but he is afraid of what will happen if he loosens his grip. Instead he holds on even more tightly and manages to wrestle her wand out of her hand. Hermione is far from defenceless, however, as she brings up her knees, effectively hitting him in the groin. With a groan, he collapses on top of her. Nevertheless, he holds on to her hands tightly, not releasing her.

She keeps on struggling beneath him, and he's afraid that he's crushing her, but there's nothing he can really do. Fortunately, auror training has done its job and he's able to hold her down. Unfortunately, she doesn't wake up, even if he keeps on telling her that it's him, Harry, that she doesn't have to be afraid.

It feels like ages, even though it can't have been more than ten minutes, when she finally starts to fight him less and less. Instead, sobs start to wrack her body. Her eyes open slightly, and a flicker of recognition passes over her face. A soft, but questioning "Harry" leaves her lips, in between two sobs.

Relieved, but still deeply concerned he moves off her, and lies down by her side instead, after having made sure that both of their wands are well out of their reach. He puts his arms around, trying to calm her down. "Shhh", he tries to soothe her. "Shh, it's ok, I'm here."

"I'm sorry", she murmurs as she melts into his embrace. "I'm so sorry."

"It's ok", he keeps on telling her. "It's ok. You're fine. We're both fine."

Eventually her sobs die down, as she drifts off to sleep, but not before she has apologised over and over again.

Meanwhile, Harry lies next to her still body, unable to fall asleep for a long time. His arms are still circled around her thin body, as he tries to work out what has just happened.

Hermione has changed, of that much he is sure. It is like a part of her has been shattered to pieces, but he is determined that he will puzzle the pieces back together.


	5. Help Me Make it Through the Night

A/N: Thanks for all the story alerts and favourites, and for just reading. I'm not too sure how much longer this story will turn out, but I'd guess we have two more chapters to go after this one.

A special thank you to my reviewers pawsrule, Hurin3 and alix33!

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><p><strong>Part 5 – Help me make it through the night<strong>

Take the ribbon from my hair  
>Shake it loose and let it fall<br>Lay it soft upon my skin  
>Like the shadows on the wall.<p>

Come and lay down by my side  
>Til the early mornin' light<br>All I'm takin' is your time  
>Help me make it through the night.<p>

Chorus:  
>I don't care what's right or wrong<br>I won't try to understand  
>Let the devil take tomorrow<br>But tonight I need a friend.

Yesterday is dead and gone  
>And tomorrow's out of sight<br>And it's sad to be alone  
>Help me make it through the night.<p>

_Help me make it through the night, Sammi Smith_

* * *

><p>Harry hasn't realised that he has fallen asleep until he awakes the next morning. Opening his eyes slightly, he sees Hermione slowly and carefully disentangling herself from under his arm, her back turned towards him. As the events of last night come flooding back in, Harry closes his eyes again. As much as he'd like to talk to her about it, now is definitely not the right time, especially if she is so intent on stealing away.<p>

Once he hears the door to the adjourning bathroom close, he gets out of bed himself and leaves for his bedroom. There, he gathers up some clothes before he steps under the cleansing iciness of his own shower's water.

As he is standing under the ever-falling stream, his mind is finally starting to awake and he starts recapping the events that have transpired the previous night. He is not sure of anything concerning Hermione anymore. Was she already this broken when she left to retrieve her parents? Has the war scarred her that much?

Unbidden, memories start flooding back in, pictures that haunt him during his own nightmares and for a while he is lost in his own fears.

But he has learnt to deal with this, and after a few minutes he is able to shake the dread off that always accompanies these recollections. Instead, his thoughts find their back to their previous occupation: his female best friend and the alarming state she is in.

He is not sure whether it's the war that has changed her so, or whether where is something else, something that he does not know about. Could it have anything to do with her parents? She hasn't wasted as much as one word about them since she has arrived and he has been reluctant to ask.

He hastily turns the water to an acceptable temperature, when he realises that he has unintentionally set it to scalding hot so that it is now burning his skin. He sighs, about his own absentmindedness and about the whole situation.

He doesn't know how long he's been standing there under the cleansing stream, but when he finally steps out of the shower, his skin has turned all wrinkled and pruney.

Carefully, he dries himself off before he slips into his clothes. Another sight leaves his lips, as he slowly walks down the stairs and goes into the kitchen.

He is relieved when he discovers that Hermione obviously hasn't come down for breakfast yet. And that in turn makes him feel guilty. Merlin, why can things never be simple for him?

Usually, he starts his day with a cup of tea, but today he feels like he needs something stronger, so he digs out the hardly used and dusted coffee machine from the corner.

Absentmindedly, he nibbles on a slice of toast as he watches the dark liquid rinsing through the machine.

Once it's done, he pours himself a cup. Even though the coffee is still steaming, he takes a sip – and promptly spits it into the basin.

Yuck! Six spoons of coffee powder were obviously too much. There's a reason he prefers to stick with tea, there's hardly anything you can do to ruin it.

"Morning, Harry", Hermione's voice startles him. She sounds slightly amused, obviously having witnessed his slight misadventure. Yet there's also wariness to her tone.

"Want some coffee?", he asks her.

"No thanks", she declines, with a pointed glance towards the basin.

"Good choice", he replies, as he takes another careful sip from his cup before emptying it into the basin – definitely not drinkable.

"Tea, then?"

"Sure, thanks", she answers, as she settles herself on a chair.

They eat their breakfast in silence, as neither of them seems to know what to say.

He tries reading his part of the Daily Prophet – he has handed over half of the paper to Hermione – but he is unable to concentrate. His mind circles around Hermione.

'Patience, Harry', he tries to tell himself. Unfortunately, patience has never been one of his strong points. The thing is, he's not used to not getting to the bottom of things. At work, it's never taken him long to break people, to weasel out all the information he needs.

But that's just it – Hermione is his friend, not his enemy. He doesn't want to weasel information out of her without any consideration whether this might be hurting her, but he wants her to want to tell him.

And he is also afraid. He is afraid that if he straight out asks her, she will reject him.

* * *

><p>When Hermione wakes that morning, the first thing she realises is that she is not alone in her bed. Panic engulfs her, before she realises that the arm wrapped around her waist belongs to her best friend.<p>

For a while, she just lays in her bed motionlessly, as her adrenaline level is slowly calming back down. Her mind is already busy puzzling together the pieces she remembers from the previous night.

She can't believe she forgot the accursed silencing charm. She's never forgotten it before.

Carefully, she disentangles herself from Harry's sleeping figure. She needs to get out of here. She needs to think.

Quietly, she slips out of the room and into the adjourning bathroom, quickly shutting the door behind her. Her back slams into the door, as she sinks down to the floor.

Only now does she realise that she has left her wand in the bedroom. For a moment, panic threatens to overwhelm her again, she hasn't been without her wand in a long time.

Desperately, she tries to calm herself down. She is at Grimmauld Place now, Harry is just in the next room, she is safe here, she doesn't need her wand. Nobody is going to attack her. She is safe. Out of harm's reach. Safe.

It is working to some extent, as her panic slowly subsides, but an uneasy feeling lingers. Her mind is still in an uproar, as it shuffles through the past night's events.

How could she have let her guard down like that? How could she allow Harry to see her like that? And, if she remembers correctly, she even tried attacking him. She could have seriously hurt him. She doesn't dare imagine what might have happened if he hadn't been able to overpower her.

One thing she dreads more than anything else. How will Harry react to all this? He'll probably start questioning her now. And how will he see her now? Will he regard her as weak? Will he think that she has gone crazy? Or, worst of all, will he pity her?

She thinks she can take almost everything else, but she knows she won't be able to stand him pitying her.

She doesn't know how long she's been sitting there, her thoughts running in circles, when she finally manages to pull herself enough together to shed her clothes onto the floor and to step under the shower. Only then does she realise that she is still shaking.

Normally, Hermione only spends little time showering, but today, she takes her time, prolonging the shower as much as possible, thus procrastinating the inevitable confrontation with Harry.

With a soft sigh, she eventually turns the water off and steps out of the shower. Peeking into the bedroom she realises that Harry has – to her immense relief – left the room.

The first thing she grabs once she is in the room is her wand. Only when her heart starts beating a tad slower does she realise how much it has really unsettled her not to have it within her grasp.

She takes her time dressing before she slowly starts walking down the stairs. She can hear Harry shuffling around in the kitchen.

The first thing she sees once she enters the kitchen is Harry spitting some dark liquid into the basin. Coffee, she realises a second later. There is a deeply disgusted expression on his face, quite comical to look at.

A small smile steals itself onto her face, as she greets him. "Morning, Harry."

She is somewhat amused when he offers her some coffee, clearly at a loss as to what else to say. She declines, but gladly accepts the tea he offers next.

Silence settles over them both, as neither of them knows what to say or do. She can see that he is worried about her, but at least there is none of the pity that she has dreaded so much.

Wordlessly, he hands her part of the Daily Prophet. She quickly immerses herself, intent on avoid a conversation about the past night.

Her eyes quickly skim over the article, but she doesn't absorb a word she is reading. Her thoughts keep shifting, and she cannot help but wonder whether Harry will confront her eventually.

* * *

><p>After breakfast, the day passes much the same way as the day before. Once again, Hermione leads the way up to the library and they work in companionable silence.<p>

It isn't until after dinner when Harry broaches the dreaded subject, however briefly.

"I've cancelled all silencing charms."

Hermione looks up, aghast. The 'why' dies on her lips. She's pretty sure she knows why Harry has done what he has done. "How", she asks instead.

"Counter-curse", Harry shrugs. "Comes in quite handy when you want to overhear conversations."

And with that, the conversation ends, neither of them wanting to add anything else.

Hermione wants to protest, but she knows it will be useless. And she's also afraid that if she starts complaining, Harry will start asking questions instead.

That night passes much like the one before. However, this time Harry is not even asleep yet when the sound of her cries reaches him. Quickly, he walks over to her bedroom. Having learned from the previous night, Harry tries disarming Hermione as soon as he enters her room. Unfortunately, things don't go as smoothly as he has planned, since she manages to shoot off quite a few spells into his direction, one of which painfully throws his body against the wall, before her wand is secured in his hand.

Similarly to the night before, he once again has a hard time calming her down. He ends up sleeping in her bed once again, though he sleeps little that night.

Days pass and they slowly fall into their own sort of routine. Harry starts going back to work eventually, while Hermione seems to have made it her personal aim to read each and every book in the Black library.

Their nightly routine continues, even they never talk about it. In the morning, Hermione always leaves for her bathroom before Harry gets out of bed.

Slowly but surely Hermione starts gaining weight again and the black shadows under her eyes disappear. At the same time, Harry catches little sleep each night, as he has made it his habit to wait up until he hears her anguished cries before crawling into her bed beside her, calming her down. More than once, he gets hit when trying to disarm her.

For Harry, it gets more and more difficult to hide from his fellow employees and from the watchful eyes of the Weasleys that something is wrong. He hardly goes out anymore and he hardly ever visits anyone. And there's the small fact that he doesn't allow anyone into his home anymore. He knows that the Weasleys are worried about him, Molly in particular, but there's nothing he can really tell them to ease their worries. Eventually, he tells her that he's going through a rough phase, and that he needs some time to himself to sort through it.

Molly seems content with his answer, but no less distressed. He feels guilty for making her worry, but he doesn't really know what else to do.

Things stay nearly the same for more than three weeks, until someone else decides that it is time that he took things into his hands.

Harry is still sitting up in his bedroom – watching some boring film on his recently installed TV, as he knows from experience that Hermione's nightmares probably won't start for at least another hour – when Hermione's shocked cry disturbs him.

In less than a heartbeat Harry is up and out of his room. This shout does not sound like one of the ones Hermione usually makes when going through one of her nightmares. It rather sounds like she is – fighting?

Harry forcefully busts into the room. An incredulous "Kreacher?!" leaves his lips as he takes in the situation.

Hermione and Kreacher are tangled up on her bed, as they seem to be fighting for dominance.

At his outcry, both of them start fighting. Kreacher, however, is quicker to grasp the new development and with a snip of his fingers he's out of the bed and in the corner of the room, his hand firmly clasped around Hermione's wand.

"Kreacher", Harry repeats. "What is the meaning of this? Why are you stealing Hermione's wand?"

Harry has gotten rather fond of his stubborn house elf, but he does not know what exactly Kreacher thinks he has been doing now. Is it the old blood prejudice that is still lingering in the houseelf's mind? If yes, he does not know how to work a solution for their enmity. He can already feel a headache building up behind his forehead.

"Miss is being stupid", Kreacher declares.

Harry is dumbfounded for a moment. That is probably the one insult he has thought that nobody would ever make concerning Hermione.

He opens his mouth to come to Hermione's defence, but Kreacher beats him to it. "And so is Master", he calmly adds.

That effectively manages to shut Harry up, as he is too gobsmacked to find a reply.

"Yes, yes, " Kreacher continues, not in the least deterred by either Hermione's angry or Harry's overwhelmed expression. "Master is being very stupid, and so is his little female friend."

Kreacher takes a few steps towards Harry now, obviously agitated. "Master is not getting enough sleep. Master is losing weight. Master is getting hurt. And master is doing nothing about it. And woman, who claims to be his best friend, just watches and does nothing to help him. Yes, she is hurting herself, but that is no reason for her not to help him."

Kreacher is now pointing angrily at both of them. Harry is still too baffled to form a coherent reply, while the expression on Hermione's expression has turned from angry to thoughtful.

"So because Master and Miss are both not doing anything at all, Kreacher has decided that he has to do something at it." Kreacher nodds vigorously to underline his words.

"So Kreacher has taken Miss's wand to secure it, so that Master won't get hurt. And now, Master and friend", Kreacher particularly stresses that last word, "will go to bed together, because Master cannot miss out on any more sleep."

Harry is at a loss as to how to react. Awkwardly, he tries to find a reply, but Kreacher once again beats him to it.

With a snip of his fingers, Harry's wand leaves his hand to join Hermione's and with another snip, Harry finds himself sprayed across Hermione's bed, and, more importantly, across Hermione's body.

"Kreacher", Harry shouts indignantly, as he awkwardly moves himself off Hermione, trying to hide the blush that is sure to have spread across his cheeks. So intent on hiding his own, he misses that the same redness has spread on Hermione's face.

But Kreacher is not to be stopped, not tonight.

"Master is going to stay here, and master is going to sleep. And so is Miss. No more sneaking into her room, once Miss starts shouting. No more pretending you are not sleeping in the same bed."

Before either of them can say anything, Kreacher snips one more time and he is gone from the room. With a clattering noise both wands drop to the floor and roll of into the corner.

"Right", Harry mumbles, still not sure what to make of the whole thing.

Just as he climbs out of bed, Hermione's voice stops him.

"Wait, Harry."

He turns around to muster his best friend who has now sat up on her bed. A bit of colour has found its way to its face, and it seems like she has been battling an internal war, but when she continues, her voice sounds firm and convinced.

"I think Kreacher is right."

"What?" The question is out of his mouth before he can stop it. He has been thinking that there is at least some truth to Kreacher's words himself, but he didn't expect Hermione to admit it.

"I think Kreacher is right", she now repeats. "You should stay here."

"Oh", he says, short of a more adequate reply. "Okay", he then adds, no less lamely.

Both of them feel extremely awkward as he climbs back into the bed. Sure, they've been sleeping together for the past three weeks now, but Hermione has never been fully awake when he's entered her bed before.

"Is it ok if I sleep on this side, or do you prefer sleeping on the left side", Harry asks somewhat shyly, gesturing to his side of the bed.

"No, I mean, I don't really mind which side I'm sleeping on", Hermione answers, and somehow it makes Harry feel good that for once, Hermione seems to be as much at a loss for words as he.

"Alright then", he answers, as he settles himself on his side. "Good night then."

"Good night", Hermione replies, as she switches off the little bedside lamp.

For the first time in more than three weeks, no cries disrupt the peace of the night. For the first time in more than three weeks, Harry wakes up well rested the next day. Not for the first time in three weeks, Harry's and Hermione's body become entangled during the night and Hermione wakes up in Harry's soft embrace.


	6. The Only Hope for Me is You

A/N: Guys, I'm so sorry for not updating in ages – again! I can just express my gratitude to everyone who has actually stuck with me and this story.

When I started this chapter, I was convinced that it would be the last one. However, I had barely written a few sentences when I realised that that would not do. More and more plot elements are just popping into my head and I kind of feel that it would be mean to leave them out. So I'm not even going to predict how much longer this story will be, it could be just one more chapter or several. I guess it'll just end up as long as it will end up.

A special thank you to my reviewers _CrazyReader3, Fury Empire, pawsrule, CharmedNightSkye _and_ alix33._ Your encouragements were what ultimately got me to write another update! And on a positive note, at least parts of the next chapter are already written and I should have some free time around Easter.

* * *

><p><strong>Part 6 – The Only Hope for Me is You<strong>

Remember me [x4]

Where, where will we stand  
>When all the lights go out<br>Across these city streets  
>Where were you when<br>All of the embers fell  
>I still remembered them<br>Covered in ash  
>Covered in glass<br>Covered in all my friends  
>I still think of the bombs they built<p>

If there's a place that I could be  
>Then I'd be another memory<br>Can I be the only hope for you?  
>Because you're the only hope for me<br>And if we can't find where we belong  
>We'll have to make it on our own<br>Face all the pain and take it on  
>Because the only hope for me is you<p>

Alone  
>How would you be<br>Many years after the disasters  
>That we've seen<br>What if we learned  
>Of all the people burning<br>Purifying flame  
>I'll say it's okay<br>I know you can tell  
>And though you can see me smile<br>I still think of the guns they sell

If there's a place that I could be  
>Then I'd be another memory<br>Can I be the only hope for you?  
>Because you're the only hope for me<br>And if we can't find where we belong  
>We'll have to make it on our own<br>Face all the pain and take it on  
>Because the only hope for me is you, alone.<p>

The only hope for me  
>The only hope for me is you<br>The only hope for me is you  
>The only hope for me is you<br>The only hope for me is you  
>The only hope is!<p>

If there's a place that I could be  
>Then I'd be another memory<br>Can I be the only hope for you?  
>Because you're the only hope for me!<br>And if we can't find where we belong  
>We'll have to make it on our own<br>Face all the pain and take it on  
>Because the only hope for me is you alone<p>

The only hope for me is you  
><em>(Remember me)<em>

_The Only Hope for Me is You, My Chemical Romance_

* * *

><p>Contrary to what Harry has originally feared, things get easier after Kreacher's interference. It takes Hermione and him a while to get over their initial awkwardness around one another, but eventually they settle into a comfortable routine. Hermione's nightmares become far less frequent and both of them manage to catch much more sleep these nights.<p>

However, there's still a lingering uneasiness that fills him. She still hasn't completely opened up to him and he is yet to discover what exactly caused her to stay away for so long.

Patience is a redeeming quality, but not one that Harry is particular famous for possessing, and yet these days, he clings on to it with determination that surprises him. He is still not sure how to get her to trust him with her secrets, so for the moment he just watches her. And what he sees both comforts and worries him.

On the one hand, she has definitely gotten better since he first ran into her. She has gained some weight, and the circles under her eyes are no longer prominent. She is also a bit more talkative these days, though she is still seldom the one to initiate a conversation.

On the other hand, she doesn't do anything. Well, sure, she reads, a lot at that, a fact that in itself is somewhat comforting. But she doesn't seem to have an elaborate plan as to what her future should be like, nor does she seem to want to get a job anytime soon. And even though it annoyed him to no end when they were both still teenagers, he sometimes wishes the meticulous Hermione back, who would organize her whole life with colour-coded notes.

She seldom leaves the house, even though Harry has to admit to himself that to some extent he is glad that she doesn't, because every time she does he is afraid she might not be coming back.

Even though he is pretty sure that they are past the point where Hermione would just get up and leave without notice, pretty sure is not quite convinced, and his heart still beats that tad bit faster every time he comes home, not slowing down until he sees that she is still there.

He knows that Molly has noticed that something is off, as she is watching him carefully whenever he comes over to visit, but she has yet to make a comment. In order to calm her worries, he tries to refrain from using any excuse he can come up with to get back home any earlier, as he did the first weeks after Hermione showed up.

And still, it is one of these Friday evenings, when his eye once again travels to his watch without meaning to, that Molly catches his eye with a look that clearly tells him that he is not fooling her. When she comes over to where he is sitting a few moments later, he is sure that she is finally going to confront him. However, all she does is lean down to him and whisper in his ear: "You know, you can always talk to me, if you want to."

Before he has any chance to react, she has moved on, and a quick glance around the room tells him that no one has noticed the brief interaction. He is surprised, gladly so – as little as patience is a virtue anyone would connect Harry with, as little is inconspicuousness one of Molly's many qualities.

He briefly considers taking her up on her offer, but dismisses it nearly immediately. He has promised Hermione to keep quiet after all. Still, it's a nice feeling to know that someone is watching out for him.

Weeks turn into months, and with some surprise Harry realises that more than two months have passed since Hermione has first moved in with him.

It's a beautiful Sunday evening in the beginning of autumn, when Harry finally manages to coax Hermione into taking a walk with him outside. Both of them are wearing disguises, as they are strolling around in a small park on the outskirts of muggle London. The leaves have already started to turn yellow and it's a beautiful and peaceful sight to behold.

They walk in silence for quite a while, neither of them wanting to ruin the atmosphere by starting a forced conversation.

When he tells this particular story in later years, it's always the swings that he mentions first. The swings that brought about so much change, he will say with a smile in his face.

As it is, Hermione is the first one to discover them. The first thing that tips Harry off, who is currently far off in his own world, is the smile that suddenly starts to stretch across Hermione's face – a smile that he has seen far too rarely.

When he turns in the direction that she is looking, she has already moved towards the set of swings on the little playground they are currently passing.

There's a slight hesitation to Hermione's steps before she sits down on one of the swings and pushes herself up. Up and down, up and down she goes, higher and higher, and he can see joy spreading across her face, as he just stands there, a few meters away, simply watching.

"Harry", she shouts at him some five minutes later, when she has realised that he's still standing over there. "Get over here."

When he fails to comply immediately she points to the swing next to hers rather impatiently. With a slight shake of his head, Harry does as he is told.

When he pushes himself off the ground, his thoughts go back to his childhood. How long has it been since he's last sat on a swing? It must have been before he started at Hogwarts.

Quickly Harry picks up speed until he is going up as high as Hermione. He remembers that he loved to do this in his childhood and now he also remembers why. It's an incredible feeling, of freedom, being able nearly to fly – that and a whole lot of adrenaline, he concludes with a smile.

Neither of them talks as they swing up and down in synchronism, both just enjoying the feeling. He knows that the two of them probably constitute a weird picture for any outsider, but at that moment, he couldn't care less.

Ten minutes both of them are slightly out of breath, as they are still swinging up high.

"Let's jump", Harry suddenly suggests.

"What?" Hermione asks somewhat dumbfoundedly.

"Let's jump", he repeats. "I always thought that part was the most fun."

"I have never done that before", Hermione admits. "My parents always forbade me to do so, and frankly, I was too scared to ever try it. I've never been a great fan of heights, and just letting go like that, I don't know."

She seems to be battling with herself, when Harry decides to help her along. "Give me your hand", he says, holding out his right hand towards her.

"Why?" Hermione asks, as her hands are now tightly wrapped around the ropes of her swing.

"Just trust me, Hermione", he tries to convince her. "Give me your hand, I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

It seems to take her quite some power of will, but eventually her left hand stretches out to meet his.

"Great", he says with a smile. "Now, we'll take three more swings forwards and when we're on the highest point, you let go and jump."

"I really don't think that's such a good idea", Hermione objects, her hand slightly sweaty on his.

Harry, however, is not inclined to listen. "Two", he signals.

"Harry!"

"One."

"What if…"

"Jump!" Harry shouts the last bit, and to his relief, Hermione lets go as both of them jump down together.

However, Hermione is clearly not used to this, as she loses her balance. Since their hands are still intertwined, Harry topples down with her, and both end up lying on the floor.

"Are you ok", he asks her concernedly, questioning whether the whole thing was such a great idea after all.

To his immense relief and surprise, Hermione only starts laughing in reply.

"That was fun", she replies with a smile, when she gets herself up into a sitting position.

Her eyes are shining with joy, something he hasn't seen in a long time, and it makes her whole face radiate beautifully. There is a tender moment, when he leans over to brush away some dirt from her face, and his eyes get lost in hers.

Once he realises what is happening he quickly looks away, and brushes himself off as he gets back up to a standing position, extending one hand towards her in order to help her up. He clears his throat in order to end the sudden awkwardness that has arisen and leads her back over to the set of swings, this time simply sitting down.

"So I take it you like swings", he asks with a smile in his voice.

"I love them", Hermione declares passionately. "My dad got me one for my sixth birthday. He had put it up in the garden and I still remember that I always thought it was the best present anyone has ever gotten me. I was always slightly afraid of heights, but never when I was on my swing. I would spend hours out there, and I think my parents were glad that I had finally found some past time other than reading."

"I also always felt like I could get away anything when on my swing", she continues her tale. "Away from the jeering and ridiculing of some of the other girls in my year, who could not understand how anyone could possibly be that interested in books, or how it was not my fault that some strange things just seemed to happen around me from time to time."

"On my swing, I always felt free, like I could anything. Up there, I convinced there, that I would become prime minister and do just as good a job as Margaret Thatcher." She's laughing about the last part, clearly amused as to her own childhood dreams.

Harry nods. "We didn't have a swing at home, and if we had, I barely think the Dursleys would have allowed me to use it. There was one at a nearby playground, however, and whenever I managed to get away, I would go there. It was much the same for me as for you, swinging always gave me a sense of freedom – and as I already said, jumping off was probably always my favourite part."

"Tell me some more about your childhood", Harry prompts her, honestly curious, as neither of them has talked much about that topic before.

"What do you want to know", she asks, and he is glad that she actually seems to be in the mood to share some things.

"Everything", he replies easily, with a mischievous smile on his face.

"Harry", she admonishes him, but starts recounting anyhow.

He stories tell of holidays spent exploring historical sights, the occasional trip to the beach included, growing up as an only child, learning reading at age four. She talks about her love for books that she has clearly inherited from both of her parents, her problems to get along with her peers in kindergarten and primary school and how knowledge sometimes seems to be her only friend those days.

And then she talks about her first bouts of magic. Her ninth birthday, when her parents were trying to tease her, having wrapped a book about cosmetics instead of the one she had wished for. How she slowly unwrapped the present, convinced that she already knew what was in there and being totally disappointed when she saw the title. How she was initially whining, the book still in her hand, complaining that she has no use for such trash (for which her mother admonished her for language), but how, when she looked back down to the book it had changed into the one she had originally hoped for. She laughs when she describes the look of astonishment evident on her parents' faces.

And Harry shares stories in return. Stories about his painful childhood, but also the few happy moments. He tells her things that he has never told anyone else before, and he finds that he is far less bitter about what has happened when he used to be. And with Hermione, there is no fear that she will be judging him.

Neither of them knows how much time has passed when they eventually get up and walk back in comfortable silence. It is dark when they get back inside, both deep in their thoughts, both aware that once again, things between them have shifted.

That Sunday walk becomes a given occurrence for them, and they start talking about a lot of things. Their childhoods still come up regularly, and they learn much about one another that they had never known.

They also talk about other subjects, though, their time at Hogwarts, current happenings, that article Hermione has read. The only topics they avoid are the war and the nearly three years that Hermione spent away.

It is one of these days that Harry finds Hermione up in the library, totally engrossed in her reading, a lot of parchment spread all around her on which she seems to have scribbled a lot of comments.

"What are you working on?", he asks her, as he steps closer.

Hermione lets out a startled cry, not having noticed his entrance.

"Merlin, Harry", she admonishes, "you frightened me to death."

"Sorry", he apologises. "I didn't mean to."

"So, what is all that?", he repeats his earlier question, when she doesn't answer, pointing to all the work around her.

"That," she answers slowly, nervously fiddling with her pen, "that's just some idea that I'm working on."

"What about?", he inquires as he picks up one of the parchments, skimming over her notes. He hardly understands most of it, but still, a few things catch his mind and as he takes in the titles of the books lying around the answer becomes clear to him.

"You're working on a cure for lyncantrophy", he concludes quietly, his voice full of admonishment.

"I'm not even convinced that it could work", she is quick to interject. "It's just that idea that I had."

He hardly takes in her objection. "Merlin, Hermione, this is huge", he says. "Just imagine if Lupin had had the chance…"

An emotion crosses over her face when he mentions Remus' name, and he is not sure whether he can properly identify it. Was that guilt? What for?

But that thought quickly leaves his mind when he comes to another assumption. Hermione has finally found something to work on, to spend her energy in, and that in itself is something that makes him want to dance up and down the floor.

Part of the older Hermione is finally re-emerging, and he couldn't be happier. "I'm sure you'll find a solution", he reassures her. "If anyone can, when certainly the brightest witch of our age, don't you think?"

Hermione blushes slightly, and as he watches her closely he sees that some new life has entered her formerly dull eyes. Another step on the way to recovery has been taken and he is sure that eventually they will finish that part together. He will make sure of that.


End file.
